


Life and Death

by snakeling



Series: Life and Death [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-14
Updated: 2006-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeling/pseuds/snakeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wizarding World has a lot of archaic laws, as Snape is about to experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DJIN7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJIN7/gifts).



Snape woke up sluggishly, his mouth feeling as if his tongue had tripled in size and lost all of its moisture. He looked around him in surprise, as the last thing he remembered was his Azkaban cell opening to let a prison guard enter.

This room had nothing to do with Azkaban. It was by no stretch of the imagination luxurious, but compared to Azkaban, it was heaven. To begin with, there was a bed. A narrow bed with a rather lumpy mattress, but a bed nonetheless, and there even were sheets and a pillow. His tiny isolation cell had not even contained a pallet, and Snape had been forced to share the ground with the rats.

Snape slowly sat up, taking in more of the décor. A small wardrobe stood in a corner and there was an ugly flowery curtain hiding what Snape hoped was a bathroom. He stood up, disdaining the slippers that had been laid near his bed. His feet were filthy and he had no intention of soiling what might be his only footwear.

Snape opened the wardrobe. There were a few robes, black and of a simpler design than the ones he had worn as a teacher. There was also Muggle clothing, black trousers and darkly-coloured shirts. Search as he might, he found no underwear.

The curtain did hide a bathroom, and Snape spent a long time simply admiring it. It was tiny, with a toilet bowl in a corner and a small shower stall in the other, closed by another ugly curtain, this time with big purple and orange polka-dots. The washbasin must have been the smallest Snape had ever seen.

At any other time, Snape would have scoffed at the arrangement, but this was a definite improvement over the hole in the ground in Azkaban. Though there had been common showers, Snape had not been allowed to use them on his last stay.

Finally he managed to rouse himself from his stupor and began to disrobe. He dropped the disgusting rags he was wearing onto the floor and stepped under the warm spray. There was no bathtub, but Snape was perfectly content with a simple shower, and he proceeded to rid himself of the grime of Azkaban.

Half an hour later, the water finally ran clear and Snape stepped out. He grabbed a large towel and dried himself, gently patting the places where his skin had chafed.

That was when Snape noticed it. The Dark Mark had disappeared with Voldemort, but where there had been only pallid skin now were four words written in a simple script: “Property of Harry Potter.”

Snape closed his eyes in dismay. It could only mean one thing, but the very thought was painful. Briefly he wondered how Potter had even known of that archaic law, then he remembered that Granger had also survived the war and had probably supplied her friend with the information.

Snape stared at the tattoo for a long time. It was on his forearm, near his elbow. The lines were parallel to his arm, so that he could read them easily and be reminded of his status. “Property of Harry Potter.”

He was a slave now. Chattel. His master could kill him, and nobody would so much as lift a finger to stop him. In fact, nobody had the right to interfere between a wizard owned under Life and Death and his master. Not even the Dark Lord had possessed such power over his Death Eaters. For the first time, Snape wondered whether they had created a monster in Potter.

He wrapped the towel around himself and looked in vain for a razor or at least scissors. His beard had grown haphazardly in the few months he had been in prison, and he longed to get rid of this visible reminder.

Abandoning the idea temporarily, he stepped back in the bedroom. There, lounging in a comfortable armchair that hadn’t been there before was Potter, dressed casually in Muggle clothes.

Snape froze under Potter’s gaze, which examined him from head to toes, coldly, almost clinically. Snape almost expected to be told to show his teeth. Raising his chin, Snape returned the assessing stare.

Potter looked older than his twenty-five years. The long, dragging war had aged him prematurely and had furrowed his face with worry lines. There was a coldness and a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. The little boy had definitely disappeared and in his place stood a man. A man, Snape realised, that he didn’t know at all.

Finally, Potter stood up, the armchair vanishing behind him.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Snape boggled. What kind of question was that?

“I’m reluctant to give in to House prejudices and presume green, but that’s what you’ll get if you don’t speak up.”

“It is green, actually.” What would he get? Potter didn’t make sense at all.

A few seconds later, the room he stood in shimmered and completely changed. The bed was larger, covered with a dark green bedspread. The walls were pale green, setting off the darker curtains. A door now separated the bathroom from the bedroom.

Snape turned back to stare at Potter. There was no wand in sight, making this prowess all the more astonishing. There had been talk among the Death Eaters of Potter’s power, but Snape hadn’t imagined the extent of it. And this was his new master. . .

“I hope your accommodations are to your tastes.” There was definitive mockery in Potter’s tone, but Snape was too cowed by his display of power to react to it. “Dress and join me downstairs in fifteen minutes.” Potter turned to the door and stopped before opening it. “Severus? I really wouldn’t like to have to come get you. And neither would you.”

With that, he went out, and Severus felt something like a spring breeze all over his lower jaw. Touching it, he realised that his beard had disappeared completely.

He took one of the light robes from the wardrobe and put it on, resigning himself to have his bits dangling uncomfortably free under the robe. He went back to the bathroom, which had also changed considerably, almost doubling in size. The washbasin was now normal-sized and above it was a long tablet holding a toothbrush and a comb. Snape carefully combed back his still damp hair. It had grown past his shoulders and Snape looked for something to tie it, as it was in the way and made his neck feel too hot.

A simple leather hair-tie appeared on the tablet under the mirror of the bathroom and Snape stared at it numbly. He was still Occluding — he had never really stopped, ever since he had learned the skill, decades before — and there just was no way Potter could have penetrated his mind, especially as he was not physically there.

He concentrated on soft cotton boxer shorts, just like the ones he used to wear, which were conspicuously absent from his present wardrobe. No boxers, but a small sheet of note paper appeared. Snape picked it up and read in Potter’s unmistakable hand, “They would just get in the way.”

Snape took a deep breath and finished his preparations, while desperately trying not to think of reasons why underwear would “get in the way”. He pulled his hair back and gathered it in the proffered tie. He put on the soft slippers, since there were no shoes and opened the door.

He didn’t know what he expected to find, but the corridor was rather small, with only three other doors. Wherever he was, it definitely wasn’t the sort of extensive mansion he associated with the Potter heir.

Downstairs, double doors opened into a medium-sized dining-room that could have hosted half a dozen people easily. The long oak table was set for two, with a place at the head of the table — Potter’s, Snape imagined — and the other on his immediate right.

Snape paused. There was no-one present, and Snape wasn’t sure what to do. His dilemma was solved by the arrival of Potter, who immediately sat down and nodded sharply at the other chair. Snape hurried to sit down.

Hoping for some insight on how Potter had managed to read his mind even as he wasn’t there, Snape said, “Thank you for the hair-tie. How did you know?”

“I suppose it appeared when you needed it?”

Snape nodded. Of course it had; how didn’t Potter know that? Wasn’t it him who had sent it?

Potter continued, “Do you know the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts?”

Snape nodded again; Draco had used it to let Death Eaters in the school.

“There is a similar spell on the house, though less powerful and tied to me. You can’t wish for something I would disapprove of. I like your hair, by the way. Keep it as it is.”

“As it is?”

“Long and clean.”

Snape was definitely out of practice with the deferential attitude, and his mouth ran ahead of himself.

“Of course, Potter. The Chosen One wouldn’t want the ‘Greasy Bastard’ as his slave.”

Potter moved too quickly and Snape had no warning. Suddenly his jaw was held in a vice-like grip. Snape could feel each individual finger imprinting itself in his skin, probably leaving spectacular bruises. Ungently, Potter turned his head until Snape was looking in his eyes. Potter was visibly furious, and sharp fear coursed through Snape. Couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut for once? There was no telling what an angry Potter would do to him.

“Put a curb on that vicious tongue of yours. You won’t talk to people in that nasty way you used to when you taught.”

Snape swallowed and nodded, his throat too tight to talk. Potter observed him a moment, his lips tightened in a fine line. Snape did his best to appear intimidated. Finally, Potter let his jaw go and sat back down.

“Let’s eat.”

Snape’s jaw was throbbing, but he didn’t dare touch it to assess the damage. Anyway, he didn’t have a wand to perform Healing Spells.

Just like at Hogwarts, the food appeared in their plates. Snape had some rice and chicken. The food seemed to have been prepared very simply, and Snape in fact discovered that his meal hadn’t even been salted. As he looked at his plate in horror, Potter said, “You’ve been starved in Azkaban. Bland food will help settle your stomach. Eat.”

Snape picked up his fork again; he wasn’t very hungry now, but it wouldn’t do to upset Potter. He forced down as much food as he could, but still his plate remained half-full. He began pushing the food around, hoping that Potter wouldn’t make him finish it, as he decidedly didn’t feel up to the task.

“Stop playing with your food, Severus.”

Snape froze.

“If you can’t eat anymore, you may stop, but you’ll be served a light meal later.”

“Are you fattening me up?” Snape froze in horror at what came out of his own mouth. Had Potter put some anti-inhibition potion in his food? He had been able to control himself around the Dark Lord, dammit! He relaxed a little when Potter chuckled.

“You could do with some more flesh on your bones, but I don’t intend to eat you.”

Potter finished his meal while Snape carefully avoided his gaze, choosing to stare blankly at his plate instead. Finally, the dishes disappeared.

Potter pushed his chair back and stood up.

“I think I’ll have dessert in the playroom. Follow me, Severus.”

Playroom? What the hell? Walden Macnair had had a playroom, too, but his ideas of “play” had been vastly different from Snape’s. Well, whatever happened, Snape was prepared to meet his end with dignity.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry watched with amusement as Severus stilled and then stood up with the resignation of one marching off to the gallows.

The playroom was upstairs on the second floor, and Harry motioned for Severus to precede him inside. Severus stopped at the threshold, his mouth hanging open in shock and, given his suddenly shallow breathing, probably panic.

Harry looked around him, trying to place himself in Severus’s shoes. The room was brightly lit, illuminating the décor. Numerous rings had been fixed in the walls, ceiling, and even in the floor. The floor itself was padded with some soft material which Harry had spelled not to cause rug burns — unless he wanted it to, of course.

A wall displayed an array of paddles, canes, whips and floggers, most of which probably looked very impressive to a novice. There was a waist-high padded bench in a corner; a few large chests were aligned against the walls.

Severus was holding himself stiffly and looked ready to scream. Harry moved in front of him, and smiled grimly when Severus’s eyes snapped to his face.

“Relax. I don’t intend to introduce you to all of that at once.” He clicked his fingers and an armchair appeared. Harry sat down and in a curt voice, said, “Kneel.”

Severus remained unmoving for an instant, and just when Harry thought he would have to repeat his order — and punish Severus for it later — he fell down to his knees and sat back on his heels, his back ramrod straight.

“You know, of course, what law I invoked to take you out of Azkaban.”

“Lex vitae mortisque,” Severus whispered.

Harry nodded. “Then you know that you are now mine. Mine to do as I please. Mine to let live, or mine to kill.”

Severus began to shake, but he held his head high and met Harry’s eyes as he answered, “I know.”

“I will give you a choice, Severus. I can kill you, right now. I’ll make it quick and painless, and I even promise you I’ll give you a decent burial in the place of your choice. That’s more than you could have expected from the Ministry.”

“Or?” Severus’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Since we last saw each other, I’ve grown. And I’ve come to know my. . . tastes. If you want to stay alive, you’ll have to accept me as your Master. You’ll have to obey me, unconditionally.”

Snape started at that. “Doesn’t the Life and Death invocation include an obeisance spell?”

“Normally, yes. But I want you to obey me, to submit to me of your own free will.”

“What would you being my Master entail?”

“As my submissive, you would see to my needs and my pleasure. I, in turn, would see to yours. I would lay a few rules, and you would have to obey them.”

“We _are_ talking about a sexual relationship?”

“Of course.”

Harry distinctly saw Severus swallow.

“I’m not sure I can be a good submissive.”

Harry burst into laughter. “No? My dear Severus, you are such a natural sub. You’ve spent all your adult life under the thumbs of powerful wizards, and you played your role so well! I never figured you for a top.”

There were two spots of colour over Severus’s cheekbones. Harry smiled indulgently.

“I have no doubts that you will turn out to be an excellent pet, once you’ve been trained a bit. So, what do you say?”

Severus closed his eyes and tightened his fists. He remained silent for a long moment, but Harry had learnt patience in the last few years, and simply waited him out.

At last, Severus opened his eyes and said, “I don’t want to die.”

Harry let go of the breath he had been holding and he sat back in his armchair.

“I didn’t think you would. So, do you agree to become mine?”

Severus took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Will you obey me, of your own free will?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, _Master_.”

“Yes, Master.”

Harry smiled, and judging by Severus’s suddenly apprehensive look, it must not have been a pretty smile.

“There are a few rules that you must remember and apply at all times. You must always address me respectfully. When I tell you something, you must do it immediately and without hesitation. And when I ask you a question, I want an honest answer. In return, I will endeavour not to harm you, and to remain aware of your limits. Now, strip.”

Severus stood up and unbuttoned his robe. He was of course wearing nothing underneath, and he stood naked under Harry’s gaze.

He looked like those pictures of the survivors of the Nazi concentration camps Harry had seen in primary school. Gaunt, the skin stretched taut, revealing every rib. There was a smattering of dark hair between the two rosy nipples, and again at the groin, surrounding a quiescent cock. Bruises were already darkening on his jaw, to Harry’s satisfaction. He liked marking his pets, showing them, and the world, whom they belonged to.

Harry stood up and his chair vanished. He turned around Severus, examining him. His back looked just as emaciated as his front, the scapulae sticking out like two wing stumps.

“When you are naked, your basic position shall be on your knees, legs slightly parted and hands flat on the thighs.”

Severus hurried to obey. He threw his head back, his eyes looking up in Harry’s.

Harry growled. “And your eyes should be trained on the floor.”

Severus lowered his head and Harry stroked his hair.

“Very good, my pet.”

He placed himself before Severus, his feet fitting in the space between Severus’s spread knees. Harry always felt pleasure at the sight of a powerful wizard kneeling demurely as if he had been born to it; the fact that the wizard in question used to be in a position of authority over him gave him an additional thrill.

“What is the extent of your sexual experience, Severus?”

From his vantage point, Harry could see the tip of Severus’s ears going red.

“A few fumbles when I was at Hogwarts. I used to see prostitutes irregularly for a few years after that, but I’ve been celibate for several years now.”

“How many years?”

Severus paused, then, “Fourteen,” he said reluctantly.

“Those prostitutes, were they male or female?”

“Female predominantly, but I’ve been with a few males.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Top.”

“You’re being very rude, pet,” Harry said in a mildly reproaching voice.

There was a sharp intake of breath. “I’m sorry, Master.”

Harry slipped two fingers under Severus’s chin and raised his head.

“While I appreciate your apologies, it won’t let you out of a punishment, Severus.”

Severus tried to nod. “Yes, Master.”

Harry went back to the matter at hand. “Have you ever been penetrated, pet?”

“No, Master.”

Harry smiled in satisfaction.

“Good. Now you are going to suck me, and depending on your performance, I may be persuaded to lessen your punishment.”

“Yes, Master.”

Harry did not move and waited. Severus soon realised what was expected of him and he raised his hands to Harry’s belt.

“May I?”

“Go ahead.”

Severus unbuckled Harry’s belt and opened his trousers.

He pushed them down a little, as well as the underwear, freeing Harry’s already hard cock. Warily, Severus took it in his hand and closed his mouth over the head. He sucked inexpertly on it for a few minutes, then released it to lick while his hand squeezed the first inches.

His other hand dipped in Harry’s jeans and found his balls. Severus kneaded them in rhythm with his short licks. He took Harry’s cock back into his mouth, sliding all the way down. It was too fast, too soon, though, and he had to stop for a second until his fit of coughing cleared. Once it had calmed down, he returned to his task, using both his hands in conjunction with his mouth.

Severus was definitely inexperienced at this, but he was making up for it with, if not enthusiasm, at least much willingness. Mindful of his pet, Harry tugged him away from his cock even as he felt his orgasm build up. With a shudder, he climaxed, shooting his come into Severus’s unsuspecting face, holding his hair so that he could not back away.

Slowly, Harry’s breathing evened out and he recovered control of his limbs. He took a good look at his pet. Strands of pearly white liquid were adorning his face, his neck, and even his hair. He was scowling in annoyance mixed with a little fear.

Harry reached down with two fingers and scooped up a little come. He pressed them against Severus’s mouth until the man opened it and took them inside. He did not take the fingers out until he was sure they had been licked thoroughly clean, ignoring Severus’s grimace, then made the rest of the mess disappear.

“Good. Now there is still the matter of your punishment.”

Harry saw Severus’s eyes turn fleetingly toward the wall where whips and paddles were hanging. He smiled.

“No, not yet. For your first punishment, I think you’ll need a more personal touch.”

Another chair appeared, this one straight-backed and armless. Harry sat down comfortably, his legs slightly spread. He held his hand to Severus who used it to pull himself upright, then made to drop it. Harry tightened his grip and tugged on Severus’s arm.

“Lie down on my lap, pet.”

Severus obeyed, though with visible distaste. Harry shifted until they were both in a comfortable position. He stroked Severus’s arse lightly, soothing the tension built up in the muscles.

“Why am I punishing you?”

The answer was not immediately forthcoming, and Harry gave Severus a little slap.

“I was disrespectful, Master.”

“Yes, you were. I think that fifteen strokes would be an adequate punishment and would help you remember to address me properly in the future.”

“You know best, Master.”

Harry smiled. “You’re learning. And that was a very good blow job you gave me right now, even though it was your first?” He made the last sentence a question.

“Yes, Master.”

“I thought so. I’ll take off five strokes as a reward. So that makes ten.” Harry paused. “When I dole out punishment, pet, you count aloud and thank me after each stroke.”

He immediately raised his hand and let it fall on the unprepared Severus. It made a very satisfying sound and left a red hand-shaped mark on his left buttock.

“One. Thank you, Master.”

Harry spanked him with the regularity of a metronome, alternating each cheek. Severus suddenly seemed to want to melt onto his lap. Harry snorted; as a former Death Eater, he would know that tensing his muscles could only make the pain worse. Harry noticed with delight that there was one part of Severus which was decidedly not relaxing, as he felt the beginning of an erection poking him in the thigh.

Apart from the count, Severus remained stoically silent during his punishment, which didn’t surprise Harry much. Voldemort’s punishments had usually involved Cruciatus; a spanking just couldn’t compare in terms of pain level.

By the time Harry finished administering the whole punishment, Severus’s arse was rather red, and Harry summoned a jar of Soothing Salve. Leaving the jar hovering in the air where he could easily reach it, he scooped a handful and let it trickle on Severus’s lower back, before spreading it on the heated skin.

Severus almost melted under his fingers as Harry worked the slippery balm into the skin, following the lines of the muscles, dipping teasingly into the crease.

Harry’s movements became increasingly more direct, until his index was circling around Severus’s hole. He didn’t try to penetrate Severus, merely firmly caressing the wrinkled skin, until Severus was gyrating his arse, his breath shortening and his erection filling.

Harry’s left hand took over, while his right hand slid under Severus’s body to take hold of his cock. It didn’t take long. Severus was very excited, and Harry knew exactly which buttons to push.

Severus was apparently the silent type. The only way Harry could gauge his reactions was by the gasps and the hitches of his breath. Even when he came, Severus didn’t moan or cry out; his body simply became rigid, and warm, viscous liquid flowed over Harry’s fingers.

Harry continued squeezing and pulling on Severus’s cock until he was completely spent. He then helped Severus to sit on his lap, pulling him close until he had calmed down.


	3. Chapter 3

Snape couldn’t explain what had come over him. He had just been punished, for God’s sake, with a spanking, like a naughty five-year-old. There really was nothing arousing in that concept, and yet Snape had grown hard under Potter’s slaps. What on earth was wrong with him?

Potter helped him stand up and Snape was further humiliated by the discovery that his legs seemed unable to bear his weight. He nearly fell and Potter pulled him to his lap, until Snape was sitting across his thighs.

A hand stroked his hair, and Snape resisted the urge to lean against it.

“You’ve pleased me greatly tonight, pet. And I think you may set your fears at rest. Believe me when I say you’ve got the makings of a great submissive.”

Snape really shouldn’t have felt a thrill of pride at this compliment, though he supposed it was just as well Potter was happy with him. Finally, Potter released him, and Snape nearly flew to his own room.

Snape remained under the shower until the water turned cold, scrubbing himself almost raw. His anus still felt strange. Snape had never understood how putting things up _there_ could be pleasurable, and yet he had loved what Potter had done to him. Who would have known it could feel so good?

Of course, he had made do with his hand for more than a decade, so maybe it wasn’t surprising that he had taken such pleasure from another’s touch, even if that touch hadn’t been meant to be exciting, at least at first.

Potter hadn’t behaved according to his expectations of Potterian behaviour, acquired over several decades. He hadn’t behaved either as a dark lord in training. But the Dark Lord had been mentally instable from the start, and Potter seemed anything but. Focused, powerful, and very, very sure of himself.

Sleep was long in coming.

* * *

Unused to morning light streaming in through the window, Snape awoke rather early. Contrary to habit, he remained in bed for a moment, listening to the birds outside and relishing the fact that he was no longer in Azkaban.

At last, he got out of bed and almost ran to the shower. Although his bed had been pleasantly warm, the room itself had cooled during the night, and the wooden floor was unpleasantly cold under his feet.

After a warm shower, he returned to the bedroom and noticed that the temperature was warm again. The absence of both fireplace and Muggle heater meant it was a spell, most likely timed or tied to his moves. Clever, and rather impressive.

Underwear had unfortunately not appeared in his wardrobe during the night, and Snape scowled at the clothes. Muggle trousers would provide more support, but they looked rather fitted and revealing. No need to tempt Potter more than he already was. Or he could wear robes over trousers, but it would probably be too hot, and cooling charms were not an option, not without a wand.

In the end, Snape went with the robes, as he felt more comfortable in the familiar clothing. The house was still dark as he walked downstairs, though he could hear faint noises in what he supposed to be the kitchen.

As he entered the dining-room, lights went on and a house-elf appeared, curiously clothed. Snape stared at the multiple socks adorning the elf’s legs. It seemed that there weren’t two identical socks.

“Oh! Professor Snape, you is up already! Harry Potter is not down for an half-hour yet. Breakfast is served at seven. Is you wanting a cup of tea to wait?”

Snape nodded, and graciously accepted his cup. It was black tea, almost as dark as coffee, and Snape relished the taste. He was still nursing the cup when Potter appeared, momentarily faltering when he saw Snape.

“Are you usually up that early, Severus? I hadn’t taken you for a morning person.”

“I’m not. But I’m also not used to windows in my bedroom, and the light woke me.” As an afterthought, he added, “Master.”

Potter threw him an amused smile. “No need for so much formality when you’re clothed. Harry will do. Potter, however, will _not_.”

He nodded. “Harry.”

Snape was confused. Potter wanted someone to attend to his needs, a slave, which Snape supposed he could do. It wasn’t much of a life, but it was better than to be dead, and there were some perquisites, as Potter seemed to believe in reciprocation.

So why was Potter all friendly and egalitarian this morning? All right, maybe egalitarian wasn’t quite the word. Potter had still given him an order, and expected to be obeyed. But this parody of friendliness was disturbing. For one thing, it didn’t hint at shadows of dark-lording, but rather at the relationship Snape had enjoyed with Albus. Even though he knew he was a weapon to the man, and used as such, there had been genuine friendship between them.

Quite apart from that, Potter hated him. He had loathed him from the very start — and it had been reciprocal — and he had no reasons to seek a friendship with his fucktoy, especially when he was a celebrated man with dozens of friends.

Potter was an enigma, and Snape needed to unravel it, as his continued survival depended on Potter’s good will.

As soon as Potter sat down, dishes appeared on the table. Potter helped himself to some eggs and bacon, and Snape eyed the greasy food uneasily, making no move toward it.

“Severus. I insist that you eat in the mornings. You are far too thin and need to put on at least three stone.”

Resignedly, Snape nodded and took a piece of toast.

“Is there something you’d particularly like?”

Snape started to say no, but thought better of it. “Would you have medlar jelly? My Nan. . .”

He stopped, not wanting to share such personal information. Thankfully, Potter didn’t press the matter.

“Dobby!”

The insanely dressed house-elf appeared.

“Procure us some medlar jelly for breakfast as soon as possible, please.”

Snape stared at Potter. One did not ask house-elves. Of course, one didn’t give them clothes either, unless one wanted to fire them, and that particular elf was definitely both clothed and employed.

Snape felt rather queasy after eating one slice of toast and he refused a second. Potter glared at him.

“You realise that if you don’t have a real breakfast, you’ll get a light meal at ten o’clock?”

“I’d prefer that, Potter. I’m—”

A sudden stinging pain on the mouth interrupted him. Potter had slapped him! Snape mentally replayed his last words and his stomach sunk.

“I apologise, Harry. This is the habit of a lifetime, but I intend to, er, reform myself.”

Potter observed him for a few minutes.

“I accept your apologies. See that you do. Now, come with me.”

Snape followed warily, but gave an inward sigh of relief when he realised that they were not headed to the playroom. In fact, they were going underground, and the temperature grew chillier.

They entered a big, bare room. Tiled counters ran along the walls and there was a large, deep sink in a corner. There was nothing else in the room, but it was clear that this was to be a potions lab.

“As pleasant as sex is, we can’t spent our whole days doing nothing else. I thought you’d appreciate having a state-of-the-art potions lab at your disposal.”

“State-of-the-art?”

“Well, once you’ve bought what you need.”

“I don’t have any money, Harry.”

“I do. Make a full list of what you need and don’t worry about the expense. I’ll see to it.”

Snape nodded. Well, in that it seemed his new master wasn’t so different from the old ones; all they valued were his potions skills. Snape loved potions, of course, but he resented the assumption that he lived, breathed, and ate potions.

Well. Whatever mask of friendliness Potter wanted to put upon it, he was a slave now, and he probably should be grateful to be able to practice an activity that he did enjoy.

“Would you have some parchment and quills, Harry?”

“You know, Severus, I like the Wizarding World, I do, but sometimes wizards _are_ stuck in the Middle Ages.”

Snape blinked at this non sequitur, and followed Potter out of the room. They went to yet another room, this time the library, a cosy room with thousands of books lined on the walls. Snape approached a shelf, gasping when he recognised the small scratches on the leather of one of the books. He turned toward Potter.

“When you became my slave, all your possessions also became mine. That includes your books. I had them brought here.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Hesitantly, he added, “The house on Spinner’s End. . .?”

“In Halifax?”

Snape nodded.

“I’ve had an interesting offer from a property developer.”

Snape hoped he had managed to hide his dismay. The house was small, old, and even antiquated, but it was the home of his childhood. Silently, Snape reminded himself that he had no rights anymore.

“We were talking about writing implements, I think.”

Potter smiled. “Of course. Your Muggle upbringing should have made you familiar with those.” He opened a drawer. “Paper and ballpoint pens.”

Paper was quite an acceptable substitute. It was much more manageable than parchment, thinner and lighter, which counted when you had two or three classfuls worth of essays to carry about. Not that he would be marking essays now. The thought gave him a little thrill.

But ballpoint pens. He picked one up between two fingers; it was the cheap, disposable kind. Snape wondered what his chances were of convincing Potter that a fountain pen was a necessary part of any well-stocked lab.

Potter retired to another part of the library, where a large desk stood below the window. He was soon absorbed in reading and taking notes, and Snape turned to the task at hand.

As promised, tea and muffins appeared at his elbow as he was writing. Snape didn’t know how the house-elf had managed, but there was medlar jelly too, and he almost melted at the familiar taste.

The pen proved as awful as he had expected. The ink flowed unevenly, leaving blots at irregular intervals. Snape had put on a fountain pen on his list, finally, on the grounds that it was worth a try.

He jumped at a thud on the other side of the room. Potter pushed away the book he had just closed and stood up.

“Lunch time! I hope you’re hungry.”

Snape wasn’t, not really, not after the tea and muffins only two hours before, but he followed, resigned. He was relieved to see that he was served small portions, and of some of his favourite food, French beans and grilled trout.

“Winky served for a time at Hogwarts. No doubt that’s how she knew what to serve.”

It was really unnerving how Potter would know what he was thinking even when he was Occluding.

“Winky? Wasn’t she Crouch’s house-elf, the alcoholic one?”

Potter nodded. “He clothed her after the Quidditch World Cup in ’94. I bound her to my line when I left Hogwarts. She hasn’t touched butterbeer since. Dobby has remained a free elf, and I pay him every week.”

“You know how to inspire loyalty.”

“Yes, I do.” The words were softly spoken, yet there was something in them that had Snape look up from his plate to meet Potter’s eyes. He shivered.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry looked at Severus from the corner of his eye and tried to conceal his amusement. Severus was methodically dissecting his dinner, cutting tiny bites and chewing them thoroughly.

By the time Harry had finished, Severus had not eaten even half his food, and Harry sat back, openly observing him. After a moment, Severus looked up to see his eyes fixed on him. He looked back at his plate, then up again with a bewildered expression — and Harry noted, just a hint of exasperation.

“Do I have a stain on my robe? My nose, maybe?”

Harry grinned widely.

“You’re apparently feeling better. And Severus? No matter how long dinner lasts, we’re still going to play tonight.”

A rather ugly brick colour appeared on Severus’s cheeks and he kept his eyes on his food. He put his fork and knife on the table and remained motionless for a moment.

Harry took pity on him.

“Don’t worry. I did say I would not harm you, didn’t I?”

Severus mumbled something that Harry interpreted as, “That’s not what I’m afraid of.” Harry didn’t press him to repeat it, but he carefully filed the information away for future reference.

“Eat now. Finish what’s on your plate. I think that Winky also made your favourite cake for pudding.”

Severus didn’t say anything, but he resumed eating at a more normal pace.

Harry was amazed when he saw dessert arrive; he had expected something dry and almost ascetic, not this decadent, a-thousand-calories-per-spoonful chocolate cake. Severus’s eyes lit up, but he said, “I don’t think my stomach is up to eating that. It’s far too rich.”

“A very small piece, maybe?”

“That wouldn’t be reasonable,” he said, but he was already handing his plate to Harry, who chuckled and served him a thin slice. Severus closed his eyes in rapture as he savoured his first taste. An instant later, Harry understood why; the rich flavour of the chocolate exploded on his tongue and he nearly moaned in ecstasy.

They took their time savouring the cake, and it was nearly half an hour later that they left the dining room.

Once they were inside the playroom, Harry ordered Severus to undress immediately. He was immensely pleased when Severus assumed the kneeling position of his own volition, and he told him so.

The chair Harry conjured was deep and comfortable, and Harry sank into its cushions with a sigh of pleasure. He noted that Severus wasn’t quite as indifferent to the situation as he meant to show.

“Stroke yourself. Make yourself come and tell me what you’re thinking of, what your fantasies are.”

Severus looked rather flustered, but he obediently slipped his hand to his groin, using the heel to press against his rising cock. His breathing grew heavy. He closed his eyes and threw his head back.

“Talk, Severus.” Harry had pitched his voice lower than usual, and Severus opened his mouth in a soundless moan. Harry wondered what it would take to make him cry out.

“I’m in a room, it’s sparsely decorated. I’m standing up, naked. There’s a woman sitting on a sofa. She’s wearing a long dress, blood-red, silk. Also black leather boots with stilleto heels that go above her knees, up to mid-thigh. There’s a bed behind me and she tells me to lie on it. She ties my wrists and ankles to the bedposts and I’m so very hard. I want her to touch me, but she laughs and uses her nails to rake the insides of my thighs.”

Severus was panting by now, his hand almost flying over his cock. Harry was not unaffected by either tale or display, but he forced himself not to touch his own cock.

“She’s handling me, my cock, a little roughly, but I don’t mind. She tells me I cannot come yet and it’s so hard. I’m so hard. And when I think I can’t take anymore, she finally allows me to come, and I do. . .”

So he did, his hand only stopping when he had milked the very last drop. He slumped down, trying to regain his breath. Harry squirmed and adjusted himself discreetly.

Harry waited until Severus was in full possession of his faculties again, then he spread his legs.

“Come here.”

Severus crawled over to the chair on all fours. He sat back on his heels as Harry leant forward to caress his cheek.

“And you tell me you don’t think you’d be a good submissive, Severus? With such a fantasy? That’s denial, my pet.”

Severus looked down. “It’s a weakness.”

Harry was not unacquainted with the feeling. He had met many a sub holding that same opinion.

“It may appear so to the uninitiated, but in truth, to submit _willingly_ demands a great deal of courage and trust, not qualities which are found in weak people.”

Severus nodded, but he still looked unconvinced.

“Now, open my trousers, Severus.”

Severus obeyed, slowly undoing the buttons and pushing the flaps of fabric away. Unrestrained by underwear, Harry’s cock sprang free.

“Wrap your right hand around the base. . . tighter! That’s it. Now move it up and down. Pull the foreskin off the head and lick it. Small licks, with just the tip of your tongue. Yesss. . .”

Severus obeyed every instruction perfectly. Harry threw his head back, savouring the sensation of having someone suck him off _exactly_ as he liked it.

“Push against the slit, I like that. . . Now use the flat of your tongue to lick the head, goood. . . Take the head in your mouth and suck. You can use teeth to scrape the skin behind the head, but very lightly.”

It was tempting to simply abandon himself to Severus’s ministrations but Harry wanted to provide instructions as long as he had enough wits to do so.

“Take me in, as far as you can. Now growl.”

Severus stilled momentarily at that and looked up at Harry.

“Make your throat vibrate, pet.”

Severus’s eyes widened with understanding and he growled. It was too much for Harry. He climaxed, sending his come to the back of Severus’s throat. His poor pet had no time to prepare himself and his mouth was flooded, two trails of come sliding from the corner of his lips.

His now flaccid cock slid out and Harry said, with a voice that was considerably mellower, “Swallow.”

Severus obeyed reluctantly, visibly gagging at the taste. With a word, Harry made what had spilled out disappear. Without bothering to tuck himself in, he pulled Severus to his feet and on his lap, and embraced him.

Severus held himself rigid in his arms and Harry pulled Severus’s head down until it was resting on his shoulder. He kissed the top of his head and whispered, “You’ve been a very good pet tonight.”

Severus shivered at those words and Harry held him more tightly. He rubbed a soothing hand down Severus’s back until he could feel his breathing deepen and even out. Looking down, he saw that Severus was asleep.

Cautiously, he stood up and shifted Severus in his arms. He weighted so very little that Harry didn’t bother to use magic.

He went down to his own bedroom and laid him on the bed. Quickly undressing, he slipped under the sheets and spooned himself up against Severus’s back, who mumbled in his sleep but didn’t move.

* * *

On the following morning, Harry was awakened when Severus went suddenly rigid, next to him. Instantly alert, he noted with amusement that Severus’s breathing, much like his own, hadn’t quickened although he was obviously awake.

As an experiment, Harry pushed his morning erection against Severus’s arse. Severus bolted out of the bed, followed by Harry’s chuckles. He watched Harry warily as he summoned his glasses and slipped them on.

“Come back to bed, Severus.”

It was an order, and Severus didn’t mistake it for anything else, even though he was obviously reluctant. He stretched out on his side as far from Harry as the bed would allow. Harry sat up and pulled Severus to the centre of the bed and onto his back.

“Don’t move.”

Harry opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out a length of green ribbon. He dropped it over Severus’s chest and spoke, while imagining a snake. Severus’s eyes widened, and Harry gathered that he was indeed speaking Parseltongue.

“Split into four parts, one for each limb.”

The ribbon neatly separated into four lengths, and each slithered over Severus’s body to reach its goal. Severus looked terrified, and Harry swore under his breath. He hissed a stop at the ribbons.

Turning Severus’s head towards himself, he framed it gently with his hands.

“Severus, are you all right? The ribbons will not hurt you, nor I. I promised and I intend to keep that promise.”

Severus’s black eyes searched his face, and Harry readily opened his mind to his mental probe. After a moment, Severus nodded.

“I. . . I trust you.”

Harry smiled happily. “Good.” He pecked Severus on the lips and released him. The ribbons started to move again, pulling Severus’s limbs with them until he was lying spread-eagled, bound to the bedposts.

“My fantasy. You’re going to act out my fantasy,” Severus said in wonder.

Harry smiled. “You know what that means.”

“I cannot come before you allow me, Master?”

“Indeed.”

Harry crouched on all fours over Severus’s torso, taking great care not to touch his cock. He bent forward and took Severus’s ear lobe in his mouth, sucking and nipping it, then licking along the folds.

He could hear, almost feel, Severus breathing heavily, and gasping when Harry bit the sensitive flesh. He soothed it with broad licks, then kissed his way down the neck and along the collarbone.

Harry shifted until he was kneeling at Severus’s side, his mouth in easy reach of the left nipple, his hand attending to the right one.

“Please, Master, please!”

Severus’s hips bucked, in search of release, and Harry noticed that he was already very red and hard, the head of his cock fully extending from the foreskin. Harry paused and reached to Severus’s face.

“Severus. Do you think you can control yourself, or do you need a little help?”

“H-help, Master?”

Severus’s eyes were slightly glazed over and he seemed to be having trouble concentrating.

“A cock ring. It will constrict the base of your cock and delay ejaculation, though not actually prevent it.”

Severus closed his eyes and remained silent for a second.

“I don’t think I can control myself, Master.”

“I’m glad you’re honest with me, Severus. I’m proud of you.”

Red stained Severus’s cheeks and he kept his eyes obstinately closed. Harry gave Severus another quick peck on the lips and opened the drawer again.

The ring Harry took out was leather with four press studs to adjust the size. Harry liked to use it on himself during particularly long wanking sessions, and he wrapped it expertly around Severus’s cock, not too tight, but enough that Severus would have difficulties coming.

Once that was done, Harry went back to his exploration of Severus’s chest, pinching and biting his nipples until they stood hard and red. Severus seemed to have difficulty breathing, but he whimpered for more when Harry paused momentarily.

“Please, Master. Please let me come.”

“Not yet, Severus.”

He knelt between Severus’s legs. Remembering the fantasy, he raked his nails lightly, then more firmly, on the tender skin of the inside of his thighs. Severus’s hips were undulating on the bed, and his head was thrown back in a silent scream.

Harry stooped to mouth Severus’s balls. He licked them, then took one in his mouth and sucked on it, applying just the tiniest bit of pressure with his teeth. When he judged that Severus’s balls had received enough attention, he turned to his cock.

The first touch of his lips tore a groan from Severus’s throat. Harry locked his lips behind the cock-head and let his tongue swirl and probe. Severus was whispering a litany of please and Harry thought he had tortured him enough.

Still sucking, Harry undid the cock ring and let it fall on the bed. He increased the suction, then pulling back for a second, he said, “You may come, Severus.”

Severus bucked his hips a last time and warm come filled Harry’s mouth. Harry easily swallowed the little there was of it. The tremors of his body lasted a long time.

With a word, Harry released the bonds. He brought himself off quickly and lay back down, pulling Severus against him until he had calmed down.


	5. Chapter 5

That must have been, hands down, the best orgasm he had ever experienced. This fantasy of being tied up was one of his oldest, dating back to his school days, but Snape had never thought that translating it to reality would be so earth-shattering. He didn’t even mind that the sexy woman had been replaced by Potter.

The familiar sensation of a cleaning spell washed over him and the sticky matter on his stomach disappeared. Potter gathered the ribbons and cock-ring and dropped them back in their drawer.

Potter prodded him with a finger.

“Go take a shower. I’ll have Dobby bring you clothes.”

“Yes, Master.” As Snape climbed out of bed on unsteady legs, he wondered whether Potter had a bathtub — though he had talked of showers and not of baths. He looked around him, and Potter pointed at a cleverly concealed door.

“Over there.”

Snape entered the bathroom and his jaw dropped in surprise and envy. Potter didn’t have a bathtub, he had a bloody pool! Not as big as the Prefects’ bathroom at Hogwarts, but certainly hedonistic and self-indulgent enough.

There was also a functional shower in a corner. Snape elected to use it, but wondered whether he could talk Potter into letting him use his bathtub at some point.

When he stepped out, there were fresh towels laid out for him. After drying himself, Snape tied one around his waist and wandered back to the bedroom.

Potter was still lounging lazily on the bed and there were Muggle clothes on the armchair. No robes, and Snape looked at Potter interrogatively. Potter smirked and nodded at the Muggle clothes. Resigned, Snape picked up the trousers and shirt — no underwear, of course — and put them on.

“Are you sure those are the right size?” Snape asked as he was struggling to button up the trousers.

Potter stood up and went to stand behind him, his arms reaching around to take hold of the trouser buttons.

“Suck in.”

Snape obeyed and Potter deftly did up the buttons. He stepped back a few feet.

“Oh yes, definitely the right size.”

With that, he sauntered to the bathroom, not without delivering a playful smack to Snape’s arse. Snape decided to go down to breakfast at once.

* * *

The next few weeks were uneventful. Snape spent his days in his lab, while Potter worked in the library. Occasionally he was called away by Gringotts or the Ministry as a free-lance curse-breaker.

Several nights a week, they had sex, occasionally ending up in Potter’s bed. On one hand, Snape hated it, as he always had to wear revealing Muggle clothing on the day after. On the other hand, Potter was very generous with his bathtub, especially when they were both in it at the same time. There were things Snape had never considered doing anywhere, let alone underwater, but they had turned out to be surprisingly pleasant.

The sex was indeed good, if somewhat unconventional, at least in Snape’s admittedly limited experience. With Potter’s help, Snape had discovered a few things about himself, including the fact that spankings were not much of a punishment. He had been allowed to try almost all of the floggers and paddles Potter had on his walls, and the idea of being whipped now filled him with anticipation rather than dread.

His almost thirty years of tenure under the Dark Lord’s rule had not prepared him to the gratification found in pain. Snape had always thought of pain as punishment, as something to be avoided. Potter had taught him to skate the fine line between pain and pleasure.

He also liked being tied up, because Potter would then focus on killing him with pleasure. The soft sounds of Parseltongue directing the ribbons over his body had become associated with the idea of sex, to the point that merely hearing the snake language made him hard. There was something exciting and a little scary about putting oneself completely in the hands of another. Snape now understood better what Potter had told him about submission not being a weakness.

It also helped to know that Potter did keep his promise not to harm him. Snape had discovered that he could not bear being blinded. When Potter had tied a blindfold over his eyes, Snape had panicked. A long talk with Potter brought back to him an incident that he had buried in the depths of his mind from his stay in Azkaban, when he had been blindfolded and beaten by some wardens. Potter now took great care to always leave his eyes uncovered and at least one candle lit.

Today, Potter was away. He had said something about Turkey, by which Snape understood that he wouldn’t be back until the next day at the earliest.

Snape was dispiritedly stirring his potion. He had spent his entire teaching career longing for the time when he could brew all day, but he now longed for the interruptions of classes, detentions or teas with Albus.

At last, the potion was done. He decanted it immediately into warmed pots, stoppered them and turned them upside-down. Painstakingly, he wrote a dozen labels — Potter hadn’t challenged the request for a fountain pen on his list and had even purchased him a quality one.

He left the pile of labels next to the cooling pots and went to the library. He was sick of brewing potions and wanted something else to do.

Though there were books on the Dark Arts, Snape quickly discovered that he couldn’t read them. He could take them off the shelves, but a Stinging Hex prevented him from opening them. He scowled, but his eyes were caught by other books, Muggle books.

Snape remembered that his library had been moved here. With a smile, he let his hand stroke the familiar spines, and tried to decide on a title. Was he in the mood for a body in the bath or in an armchair? The beginning of a courtship or a honeymoon? In the end, Snape pulled out his favourite.

Commandeering Potter’s usual armchair, Snape curled in it, his feet tucked under him, and began to read. Although he had read the book dozens of times, he savoured each word, sometimes stopping to check a reference, sometimes reading passages aloud, modulating his voice for each character.

Interruptions for meals were decidedly unwelcome and only the absence of his wand kept him from hexing Dobby when he came to send him to bed.

In the morning, Snape decided to read the complete series again. He ate with his book open by his plate and was laughing at the mating dance of two of the characters when Potter came back.

His nose and forehead were red and already peeling. There were dark bags under his eyes. Potter yawned and stretched, exposing a slice of skin when his tee-shirt rode up. Snape slid a makeshift bookmark between the pages of his book and stood up.

“Good afternoon. Did you have a good trip?”

“Hello, Severus. I hate international Portkeys and I slept less than two hours last night. You wouldn’t happen to have burn-healing paste available, would you?”

Snape glanced at the rain streaming down the windows and the low-cast sky outside. “That wasn’t a priority, no, but I can make some in a couple of hours.”

“Please.” Potter yawned again. “I’ll be in my bedroom when you have finished.”

Snape nodded and watched Potter leave before going to his lab. He took his book with him. Burn-healing paste required almost an hour of waiting for the potion to thicken; there was no need to waste the time.

* * *

A couple of hours later, as promised, Snape went up to Potter’s bedroom, paste in hand.

Potter was sleeping naked on the bed, his back also showing signs of sunburn. Snape pushed his sleeves up and sat on the edge of the bed. He opened the jar and propped it up on the folds of the sheet.

He spread the cream on the burns, smiling in satisfaction as the skin recovered its natural pink tone. When he had finished, he went to pick up a towel in the bathroom, grumbling when his instinctive Summoning failed.

He blotted off the excess cream on Potter’s back. Snape was surprised when Potter suddenly rolled over; he had thought that Potter was still sleeping. He folded his hands under his head, and Snape, taking the cue, began to treat his front.

He was spreading a second layer on Potter’s face when he heard noise and voices downstairs.

“Oh, fuck,” Potter said.

“You were expecting someone?”

“Ron and Hermione. I completely forgot to postpone our dinner.”

“Hold still.” Snape wiped the last traces of the paste off Potter’s face and dropped the dirty towel in the hamper.

“Can you go down and welcome them while I’ll dress? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Snape groaned. “Yes, of course,” he said in a resigned tone.

* * *

Snape thought he should count himself lucky that was the first time he had seen Granger and Weasley since he had moved here, but he really could have done without them a little longer.

He plastered his best host smile on his face and nodded shallowly.

“Miss Granger, Mr Weasley. Harry will only be a minute.”

He took them to the sitting-room. Fortunately, the elves had aired it; Potter and Snape hardly ever used the room, preferring the library. Dobby appeared, offering refreshments. Snape refrained from commenting at Weasley’s immature taste — Firewhiskey, honestly! only fifteen-year-olds thought it drinkable — and accepted a vodka. Silence stretched between them.

“Hello, Ron, Hermione! How are you?”

At last, Potter had arrived. He was looking a lot more alert — Pepper-Up, probably — and he was wearing a wizarding robe, contrary to his habit. He sat down on the empty armchair and a glass of Muggle whisky appeared in his hand.

“So, how have you been?”

Thank God Potter was there to make conversation. Weasley began to chat about his Auror training at the Ministry. Snape nursed his drink and Granger observed him in what she probably believed to be a surreptitious manner.

“I hope your situation isn’t too difficult.”

“I beg your pardon?” Snape said stiffly. What situation?

“Your status as a. . . slave.” She said the word with visible distaste. “I argued against the invocation, but after you had been condemned to death, there was no choice anymore.”

“You argued against it? I had thought you were the one who had suggested it to Harry.”

“Oh no! It’s slavery, Professor! You don’t think I would condone depriving a fellow human being of his liberty?”

She had a point there. Snape remembered she’d created a movement for the liberation of house-elves when she was in school. He couldn’t remember the name, but he could remember sharing a good laugh with Minerva over it.

“Not even a Death Eater?”

Solemnly she said, “Not even one, Professor, and certainly not an innocent one.”

“Innocent?” Snape raised his eyebrows. If there was an epithet that didn’t fit him, it was that one. Especially as no one knew—

“Well, you did work for the Order all along.”

How did she know that? “How did you know that?” And did Potter know?

“Headmaster Dumbledore told Professor McGonagall about the Vows you took. To Narcissa Malfoy and to him. Professor McGonagall then told Harry before she died.”

So Potter did know. Snape turned furious eyes toward him. Potter stood up.

“Time for food. Let’s go to the dining-room.”

He held Snape back with a hand on his arm.

“Later.”

Potter’s eyes were hard and Snape nodded, his lips tight with rage.

“Very well.”

The meal passed excruciatingly slowly. He was aware of Weasley’s and Granger’s curious eyes on him, and only Potter’s hand on his knee at regular intervals kept him from strangling the lot of them.

He had never been so happy to see the end of a meal, and fortunately they didn’t linger; even such thick-headed Gryffindors could feel the tension in the room. As soon as they had left, Snape turned to Potter.

“I’m going to bed. It’s probably the safer solution.”

“Oh no you don’t. We’ll talk it out right now and right here.”

“As you wish.” Snape had rarely felt so angry. “You knew! You fucking knew I was acting on his own orders when I killed Albus, that he made me swear a Vow, and yet you said nothing, did nothing at my trial!”

“Does the word ‘hearsay’ mean anything to you? I had it from McGonagall who had it from Dumbledore. Some testimony that’d make! The Wizengamot would have destroyed me, and for no appreciable results!”

Snape had to admit — privately, mind! — that Potter was right about that. It didn’t mean, however, that his rage abated one whit.

“And what’s the point of this sexual slavery? If you knew I was loyal to the Order, then why this fucking deal we made when I first arrived?”

Potter blushed violently. Snape would have preferred to be held under Cruciatus rather than admit it aloud, but Potter was at his sexiest when he was red with anger, his green eyes blazing behind his glasses, his wild hair sticking up in every which direction.


	6. Chapter 6

There was nothing sexy about a wrathful Severus Snape. Nothing. His face acquired an ugly brick-red colour, his accent took a decidedly proletarian flavour, and he had an unfortunate tendency to spray spittle when he spoke.

Which did not explain why Harry was hard as a rock and wanted nothing more than throw Severus on the nearest flat available surface and fuck him to within an inch of his life.

Harry laughed. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it! I’ve heard you moan and whimper and beg for me to let you come.”

Severus looked as if he was about to explode.

“Can’t the great Harry Potter get laid without tricking a desperate man into it?” he taunted.

Rising to the bait, Harry marched over to Severus, smiling when he took a step back, and another, until the half-cleared-off table stopped his retreat. Not backing off, he pushed forward until he was crowding Severus up against the table, until he could feel that Severus was as hard as he was.

His face a mere inch from Severus’s, he whispered harshly, “Don’t tell me you don’t want it!”

His lips crushed Severus and his tongue demanded entrance. When Severus didn’t open his mouth quickly enough, Harry bit on his lower lip and sucked on the drop of blood he had drawn.

Blindly, Harry pushed away the plates and tablecloth off the table. He heard the sounds of broken glass and distraught house-elves, but Harry didn’t care. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed until Severus was half-lying on the table.

There were hands at his collar, and Harry could not have told whether they were his or Severus’s, but it didn’t matter as they were all working toward the same goal. Soon the robe was open and sliding off his shoulders, and the hands shifted to Severus’s collar. Given his position, the logistics were a little more complicated, but Severus was more than happy to cooperate and lift his torso off the table until he was completely free of his own robe.

His legs rose and locked behind Harry’s back, pushing their cocks together. Harry threaded one hand in Severus’s hair, locking his head into place as he devoured Severus’s mouth. His other hand slid down Severus’s side, round the buttocks, down the sweaty crease of his arse. Too excited to care about finesse, Harry shoved two fingers in him and began to thrust them in and out.

The lack of lubrication quickly became a problem, and Harry swore, his brain too fogged by urgency to string up coherent thoughts.

“Unguo,” Snape said, his breath short.

“What?”

“The incantation. . . for lubrication. . . Unguo.”

Harry repeated it, and felt warm, slippery fluid coat his fingers. He pushed three fingers in with renewed enthusiasm. Bending his chest at an awkward angle, Harry took a nipple into his mouth, nibbling on it, licking it to hardness. Hands pushed his head down and Harry stilled and looked up at Severus’s flushed face.

“Hands under your head, Severus.”

“But. . .”

“Now, Severus.” Harry moved as if to step back from Severus’s embrace, and Severus hurried to obey.

Harry took his fingers out and used both hands to stabilise Severus’s hips. He paused momentarily, breathing deeply to calm himself. Severus’s legs tightened their hold on Harry.

“Please. . . please fuck me. . . please, Master. . .”

Harry could hardly resist such pretty begging from his pet. Quickly, he spread some of the remaining lube on his cock. He positioned himself and pushed forward, slowly but steadily, never stopping, never pulling back. Severus let out a long hiss that might have been either pain or pleasure.

At last, Harry was all the way in. He hadn’t felt this out of control since his teens, and in a desperate attempt to delay his climax, he spelled a tight ring of magic around the base of his cock.

Better. At least he was no longer in danger of embarrassing himself. He kissed Severus again hungrily, almost brutally, sucking on his tongue, scraping his lips with his teeth. At the same time, he pulled out nearly completely, then drove back in a forceful movement that had Severus sliding quite a few inches forward on the table.

Harry could feel Severus’s cock trapped between their bodies, smearing dampness over their heated skins. Taking his hand off Severus’s hip, he grasped his cock, letting the rocking movement of their bodies push the cock back and forth in his hand.

Harry’s mouth slid down to Severus’s chin, then his Adam’s apple, kissing and nipping. Harry relished the groans and whimpers Severus let escape, especially as they made his throat vibrate even as he was kissing it.

Nuzzling the hollow at the base of Severus’s throat where collarbone met breastbone, Harry whispered against the skin, “Come for me, my pet.”

Severus stiffened and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment. Warm, sticky come coated Harry’s fingers. Harry stopped thrusting for a minute, giving Severus time to recover.

After a moment, Severus’s crossed legs slid down, and he gave Harry a little push on the arse with the balls of his feet.

“I want you to come inside me, please.” He looked at Harry with hooded eyes, and deliberately, said, “Please, Master.”

Bending back to taste Severus’s skin, Harry said, “Your wish is my command, pet.”

Vanishing the ring of magic around his cock, he slammed in one last time even as he bit Severus hard on the shoulder. His orgasm was powerful enough that the china on the shelves and the portraits on the wall rattled.

Caught in the backlash of magic, Severus climaxed again, dryly, almost painfully. Harry could have sworn they levitated off the table.

The afterglow found them sweaty and sticky, and awkwardly tangled half on the table, and half off. Severus grumbled about his “poor old bones” and people who were heavier than they looked.

Harry laughed happily and straightened. He offered his hand to Severus, helping him off the table. Both men took a good look at the room.

The tablecloth was halfway down the floor. Some of the dirty dessert plates were still lying precariously in the folds, and the broken remnants of one were scattered on the ground. Most of the glasses had ended on the floor too, though not without leaving wine stains on the white cloth.

“It looks like a war zone,” Severus commented drily.

“Well, it was.”

Severus turned to look at him, seriousness overcoming his previously relaxed expression. “The question, then, is, who won?”

Harry smiled at Severus affectionately. “I think we both did.”

Incredibly, the tension in Severus seemed to loosen, and an awkward smile illuminated his features. “I think we did. Master.”


End file.
